Like An '80's Movie
by deanwinchesters
Summary: (human au) When a nerd, princess, jock, slut, and bad boy are sent to serve a punishment in detention for eight hours, they find that their souls are closer than they had imagined. Based off "The Breakfast Club". (main focus is sydney&adrian)
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** (human au) When a nerd, princess, jock, slut, and bad boy are sent to serve a punishment in detention for eight hours, they find that their souls are closer than they had imagined. Based off "The Breakfast Club".

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Bloodlines_ or _The Breakfast Club_

**Notes: **In case any questions come up . . .

nerd ; Sydney Sage

princess ; Jillian Mastrano (human au, princess is only a title signaling that she's the popular girl)

jock ; Eddie Castile

slut ; Angeline Dawes

bad boy ; Adrian Ivashkov

_The main focus of this fic will be Sydney and Adrian (pairing)._

* * *

;

Though it was nearly breakfast, the skies were dimmed, and the clouds had yet to part and let the sun fall over the mountains to provide the appropriate light for that time of the morning.

Every part of the day was bleak. The atmosphere was heavy with fog, and the grass covering the front lawn was lightly kissed by drops of dew from the condensation of the cold night before. The air was thick with fog, and the cars that were stopping to let the students around the school's parking lot were growing damp from the environment.

The four cars were filled with words, some popping, some accusing, and some monotone as the parents spoke to their children—the words were comforting to none of the teenagers.

Though the students had never met, their stories were interlocked. The first page of the story that they shared was about to begin, but none of the students had a clue how close their souls would lie until _much_ later—or rather, much later in the perception of time by a teenager.

;

Sydney watched her hands in her lap with distraught golden eyes, waiting for a few small words from her father, but no such conversation came. She looked up from her lap to her father, blinking at him with parted lips to speak, then shutting her mouth when she saw that he was looking out the window with a blank look in his eyes.

She brought her hand up to run it through her platinum hair, watching her father with a small frown. Sydney mentally willed him to look up at her and offer some words of advice, something along the subject of telling her that it wasn't her fault that she was sent to a weekend detention, "Dad?"

"Hmm?" Jared Sage only looked to the leather steering wheel, still not lifting his head to look at his daughter.

"Don't be upset with me, Dad. It's only one detention, and I can study throughout the eight hours."

"I don't care enough about this little affair to be upset, Sydney."

"Dad, I—"

"You need to be in the library at 8:00, and it's 7:55 now. Get going, Sydney." The blonde girl didn't wait for an 'I love you' from her father—she knew that the words wouldn't come, and simply nodded and slipped out of the car, arms filled with books.

;

Eddie was sitting in his father's car, tapping the window as his right knee bounced. His light eyes flickered to the window, watching as a blonde girl climbed out of her car with some envy—he was agitated already having to sit in a single place for even twenty minutes. He always had too much energy and too little a place to waste it, and found himself always moving about.

"I'm proud of you, Eddie."

Eddie looked over to his father with something of a smile, but the grin on his face seemed to be forced. A wince came over his face as his father grasped his shoulder and shook him in a way that was supposed to be celebratory, "Thanks."

_I guess being an asshole is a good thing now._

"I mean it, Eddie. You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age." His father nodded once in an approving demeanor, giving him a grin.

The dirty blonde boy looked out the window of his car, more to avoid eye contact with his father than to watch the girl with the books spill into the school. _Have you ever thought that there's a possibility that I don't want to be a replica of you?_

"Thank you, Dad." His father lightly shook Eddie's knee to command his attention, and Eddie let his eyes fall up onto those of his father, "I should get going, but I'll keep that in mind."

"I love you, Eddie."

The words that passed his father's lips were words Eddie hadn't heard him in over a year, but they were spoken for the wrong reason. He bit back the urge to ask his father if he loved _him_, or if he loved the fact that Eddie was turning into him.

"I'll see you when this lets out."

;

Jill's wide green eyes were fixated on her hands, trying to tune out the harsh words of her mother as she drawled on about responsibility and morals. The brunette girl tried not to roll her eyes as her mother tilted Jill's chin to look at her, looking at her sharply.

"Jillian Mastrano," Jill knew it was a clear sign of anger when her mother used her fill first name, but she didn't give a damn about her mother's incessant ramblings, "If you ignore me constantly now, you're never going to get anywhere in life."

"Mom—"

"You need to stop caring so much about who you share spit with, and start caring more about where you're going to go in life. You think anyone will give a damn about you when you need a job and have to live on microwave burritos?" Her mother's blue eyes hardened on her, "No one will care how much people loved you throughout your junior year of high school. People will care about how smart you are, not how many cute boys you felt up."

"_Mom_. That's gross—I'm not that kind of girl. I don't just . . . feel up random guys, or any guys for that matter. I'm not some kind of whore, and academics are proven to be less worthwhile than social skills. When I try and get a job, they'll be talking to me. They won't give me a math test and judge me on my memorization of the hundreds of postulates. They'll look at me, and they'll listen to me and judge me on my social skills." Jill tried to grasp for her main point in the argument, but her ramblings had directed the conversation to a completely random direction that she wasn't sure how to get back from.

She wasn't as bold as she pretended to be. Her mother brought out a different edge in her, one she didn't like too much, but hiding the ugly side of her was a good reason to avoid her nagging mother as much as possible.

She got along well with her father, but her mother didn't, and the couple quit before they began. After Emily discovered she was pregnant with Jill, John proposed to her, but Emily declined with an excuse of not wanting marriage out of wedlock. The two had laid on rocky terms since then, and their only common ground was the daughter they shared.

Jill saw her mother's mouth open to speak, but she ignored her mother and threw open the car door, falling out and slamming the door. Her mother sped off before Jill could realize that she left her bag in the car, leaving Jill alone and empty-handed.

"Thank you for _everything_, mother." Jill called out, ignoring the estranged glances she received from the people passing by.

;

Angeline's freckled hand was on the handle of the door moments before the car slowed to a stop, readying herself to escape the car. Her mother slapped her hand away with a hard look as the car moved to a stop, signaling her daughter that the fifth "talk" of the week was due.

"I'll assume that you aren't going to sleep with the boys at detention as well?"

"_Mom_!"

"That boy out there seems perfectly fine. How much will you charge _him_? Thirty an hour? I forgot your rates—remind me of them, wouldn't you Angeline?" Her mother spoke with a flippancy that made Angeline want to stab a hole through the leather of the seats, but the blue-eyed girl settled with gripping onto the edge of the seat with loathing thoughts flying through her mind.

"I'm not having sex with anyone for _money_."

"So you're selling your body for nothing? Just addicted to the sex, nothing else? I thought you'd at least get enough to provide off of yourself after you become of age." Angeline's mother gave her daughter a flippant look, pulling out a nail file from the glove compartment, fixating her attention on her nails.

Angeline's mother was much too young to be a single mother, only in her early thirties and too free to be tied down by a man, much less by a daughter. The strawberry blonde girl was a strain on her life, and she tried to pretend that she was content with only a daughter, but the both of them knew that she needed more in life.

"I slept with two men. _Two_. That hardly makes me a prostitute."

"You're _seventeen_, Angeline! Remember the first man, and how he was seven years older than you? And how you had to beg until you cried so that I wouldn't turn him in?"

"You were fifteen when you were knocked up, Mom. Is that why you're so freaked out? You don't want me to fuck up my life with a kid like you did yours before you could get anywhere?"

"Get out of my car, Angeline."

"My pleasure."

;

Adrian let his hand slip into his pocket, fetching out a single cigarette and placing it between his red lips, balancing it between his teeth lightly. He reached further into his pocket, fetching a lighter and placing a spark of fire onto the bud of the cigarette, inhaling as a plume of smoke filled the car.

"You're going to bring a lighter into the school?" Nathan Ivashkov gave his son a hard look before plucking the orange lighter from his son's fingers and tossing it out the window with some look of pride.

"Littering to teach me an example? I didn't know that was one of the morals of parenting. Maybe I'll be a good father after all." Adrian offered his strict father a sly grin, "I'm sure one of the girls I've knocked up is ready to procreate with me."

"Your child would be born with infections judging by your promiscuity."

"Big surprise, but I've been tested, and I'm clean." Adrian put his hands up and wiggled his fingers in an 'I surrender' fashion, grinning devilishly.

"You never cease to make me absolutely disgusted by you, Adrian."

"Then throw a party—I'm graduating in four months, and afterwards you'll never see my face again."

"Who says you'll graduate, Son? At the rate you're going, you'll be stuck in high school for years upon years from now." Adrian tried to cut in with some quick comeback, but his father beat him to it. "Look around, and try to find someone who doesn't believe you're worthless. You can't find anyone, can you? You can't find anyone who gives a shit about you because you've shitted on everyone who thought you could do something with your life. You've killed off all of your brain cells with your alcohol, and at this point, I'd be surprised if you lived to thirty."

"You're hurting me, Dad." Adrian said sarcastically. He tapped on the window of the car, watching as his father muttered something under his breath and unlocked the car door for Adrian.

Adrian stood, slipping out of the car and standing outside of the Mustang. He bowed lowly, acting as though tipping an invisible hat off to his father in a sarcastic display of showmanship. The car sped away even faster than Emily's did, and Adrian laughed aloud, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and moving into the school with a shit-eating smile.

;

The nerd, jock, princess, slut, and bad boy were simply labels on five misunderstood souls, much too simple to describe the complex beings underneath the judging names.

When they were looked at, it was all they were—the labels created them, and the titles placed upon them were the creations of every first impression of a soul looking upon them. They were judged with a glance, and they were placed into a selective group with a single look.

The pretenses were hard to break, but when the souls opposite as could be met, the harsh glances of society were slowly shattered into something that no one but the nerd, jock, princess, slut, and bad boy could ever comprehend.

They were different as black and white, but put together, they were the same.

;

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Question of the day:

**What is your pet peeve of ffn authors? **Mine is mixing up "it's" and "its", "your" and "you're". And threatening to delete a fic if it doesn't receive a certain amount of reviews.

any **th**o**u**g**h**t**s**, **q**u**e**s**t**i**o**n**s**, **o**r **c**o**m**m**e**n**t**s**? **leave a review below c:


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Breakfast Club _or _Bloodlines_.

**Notes: **/awkward fast update

Thank you to **lydiamartins**, **DoughnutsForever**, **spaztronaut**, **ehlymana**, **lovelydoc**, **sheerio4ever**, **CherrySlushLover**, and **Bru Ivashkov** for reviewing — I'm so surprised and grateful that I have eight reviews already, and will definitely continue this fic.

**Stan Alto** will be introduced in this chapter — he is slightly out of character to fit the plot and role of the teacher (though he's something of a teacher in VA), but he is still a cannon character.

;

The library was a large room, built with tall ceilings and widely spaced walls, a heaven for the blonde girl. She was the only one of the students who didn't mind the eight-hour punishment, and busied herself quickly with pulling out a familiar book from the walls and leafing to her favorite page.

"Well, at least the dork is happy. She's with her relatives." Sydney looked up to see an unfamiliar girl with strawberry blonde hair looking at her with semi-amused blue eyes, looking down to the book in Sydney's hands and rolling her eyes. She walked over to the blonde and plucked the book from her hands, "_To Kill A Mockingbird_? Try renting the movie."

"Not all of us were raised on a barn, Angel. Believe it or not, but there's a few students at this school that know how to read." The boy with the strikingly green eyes was more familiar to Sydney, though she was sure she had never had a class with the boy in the leather jacket.

"Call me 'Angel' again and I'll show you how the barn-kids fight, Ivashkov."

The name Ivashkov reminded Sydney of who the boy was—though she hadn't a clue what his beginning name was—and reminded her quickly that he wasn't someone she wanted to associate herself with. He was famous around the Amberwood for both his troubles with the law and his promiscuity, and was famous for having a royally fucked up life.

Sydney sat herself in the middle of the rows of tables, sliding open a thick textbook and looking over the political history of the country with a smile. The boy in the leather jacket looked at her incredulously, but stayed silent as she paged through the book with intrigued golden eyes.

The princess was next to enter, walking into the library with a spring in her step. Her small skirt bounced with her feet, and Sydney wondered how she was able to walk with how cold it was outside. There were small goosebumps over her long legs, but she seemed oblivious to the cold—the only emotion shown by her was one of annoyance.

"What's your problem, Jillian?" The girl with the reddish hair and splatter of freckles spoke up first, looking over the popular girl with a bored glance.

"It's none of your business, Angeline." Jill shrugged simply, seating herself at the front of the room and crossing her legs, drumming her nails against the table and examining her nail polish for any chips in it, looking at her hands for a distraction more than anything.

"No need to be defensive, Jillian."

"Don't call me Jillian."

"Why? It's the name your parents gave you. Are you insulting their judgment? Do you think they chose a bad name for you?" Angeline's words were coy. She twirled a lock of her strawberry hair on a fingertip, biting her lip in some display of innocence.

"Do you think your parents chose a bad name for _you_? Your name has the word 'angel' in it, but I'm sure that your mother didn't know how loose you'd be when she had you." Jill's words were confident, but the delivery was lacking. She avoided Angeline's eyes even as she insulted her, and seemed _nervous_ to talk back to her.

The last student walked in, taking in his bearings with jade eyes that resembled those of a hawk's. He paused for a moment in the doorway, eyes flickering over the sitting students, and slowly pulled a chair out to sit down in at the front of the room. He glanced to the prim girl—Jill Mastrano—who was sitting in the seat next to his, asking silently if she minded his presence.

"No. I mean, no I don't mind you sitting. Yes, you can sit." She cut herself off before she could add too much to the acceptance, and quickly went to twirling her hair on her finger as she watched him.

"Where's your stuff, Princess?" The voice came from the unnamed Ivashkov, looking over to her empty desk with a coy grin, "Is it being carried by your servants?"

"Shut up." Though the words held a denotative defensiveness, she didn't have the spine to add a harsh undertone to the words, "I left my bag in my car, but I don't need it—there isn't much to do but read or study."

"That isn't stopping Blondie." Sydney wasn't too aware the boy in leather was talking to her, and didn't notice him until he strolled over and shut her book gently. She opened her mouth to supply a protest of losing her page, but he didn't seem to care, "Why are you reading this?"

"It's fun."

"Reading about why people wanted to gun down presidents is fun?" He picked the book up as she reached up to grab it, leafing through it with elegant fingers. He didn't seem to be reading the words, "This is bullshit."

"What?"

"None of these people were _there_. There aren't any primary sources, so how do the authors know they're not feeding us crap? All these 'facts,'" He held up two fingers on each hand to symbolize air quotes around the word 'facts', "Could be some bullshit lies that some dude with a powdered wig decided to tell his kids after a long day of inventing electricity."

"Electricity wasn't in—"

The brunette boy gave her a hard look to tell her that he wasn't finished with his speech, "For all we know, Abraham Lincoln was black, Ben Franklin had gold teeth, and all the rest of the presidents were robots."

"Benjamin Franklin wasn't a president. That's common knowledge." He ignored Sydney's logic, placing the book back down on the desk. Sydney's golden eyes caught sight of a silver chain around his wrist, holding an engravement with the name 'Adrian' on it.

"Nobody cares about your 'history is bullshit' theories, Ivashkov. You're feeding us the same lines that you gave about geometry two weeks ago." Eddie turned to straddle his chair, two seats in front of where Sydney was, "Your complaints on how the skill of constructing parallel lines are hardly going to give Mrs. Karp an epiphany."

"You never know until you try."

"You never know how goddamned stupid you seem until you try and realize that you're only distracting people with your pestering." Eddie's words were insulting, but the connotation wasn't as harsh as the words were made to be.

The jock turned to Sydney, watching her with an eyebrow raised, "What's your name, Goldilocks?"

"Seems like you've already given me a name," Sydney murmured. "It's Sydney."

"Like Australia," Eddie supplied.

Sydney shrugged her shoulders lightly, opening her book back up in a search for the page she had left off on, "The name is derived from the Greeks, but I suppose a comparison to Australia could be fit."

"Do you always talk like you're a textbook, Sydney?" Adrian picked out a seat, placing himself in front of Sydney and behind the quietly talking popular kids.

"Do you always talk like you're drunk?"

"That could be because I always _am_ drunk." The lean boy looked proud of himself—perhaps for the quipping remark, perhaps for his tolerance to alcohol—and leaned back in his chair, stretching so that he bent back in a way that landed his head on the blonde's desk.

"Could you take your face out of my book?"

"I'm hurt, Sydney." The brunette stayed where he was for a moment more, taking his time to come to an upright sitting position.

"I don't think anyone gives a damn as to how hurt you are, Ivashkov." Adrian looked to Angeline, rolling his emerald eyes.

"You need to brush up on your insults, there—how about you come over after this lets out, and I can show you what I know over in my bedroom?" Eddie rolled his eyes at Adrian's incessant flirtations. "You can swing by too, Castile."

"I'll pass," Eddie remarked at the same time that Angeline replied, "Sounds good."

"See, this is why I'm straight—men never seem to be interested in me." Adrian shrugged out of his leather jacket as Eddie snorted. Sydney's eyes were brought to the strong arms sitting in front of her for a moment before she commanded her attention back to her book, becoming all the more distracted from her reading.

Though she wished to focus, Sydney allowed herself another glance at the club of students in the library, speaking avidly. With a simple glance, it was obvious that they were all different, but under a simple look, they were the same.

;

"Adrian, why the hell do you have a lighter?"

The brunette boy only laughed as Jill watched him with terrified eyes, waving her off with a simple batting of his hand. He swept his thumb over the spring of the lighter with a practiced hand, sparking the bud of the cigarette hanging between his teeth with one touch of the steady fire. He inhaled softly as the smoke hit, letting it fill his mouth for a moment, and blew the smoke outwards in a perfect circle or grey smoke.

"Impressive, Ivashkov—seems especially classy when you're burning your arm with your cigarette." Eddie remarked nonchalantly. His light eyes flickered over to Adrian's neck, landing on the burnt mark of the head of a cigarette pressed against it.

"Do you think I'm a goddamned idiot, Castile?" Adrian's voice crescendoed to a higher octave, and the blue, green, and gold eyes were brought to the brunette boy. "There's no way in hell that I'd purposely burn myself with the head of a cigarette. How fucking _stupid_ do you find me?

"Then how'd that end up on your neck? Were you hooking up with a fireplace?"

"Say another word and I'll crack your skull." Eddie looked to be stronger than the offender, but he quieted all the same, but not without a final glance at the livid boy. Adrian arched an eyebrow as though to ask why Eddie believed he had the right to lay eyes on him, and the jock grudgingly brought his eyes back to Jill.

"So, left your bag in the car?"

"Yeah," Jill rolled a lock of hair behind her ear, twisting it between her fingers and inspecting it so that she wouldn't have to make eye contact with the tanned boy. "My mom was . . . annoying me, so I left the car and slammed the door, and she took off before I could go back to grab my bag."

"Well, at least you didn't have to spare a dramatic exit." Adrian brought himself into the conversation easily, looking much calmer than he had a few moments before, "The effect might've been lost if you stormed out, turned, grabbed your bag, and kissed your mom on the cheek as a goodbye."

"I'm sixteen, Adrian. I don't kiss my mom on the cheek anymore."

"Hey, no shame there—if mine wasn't such a bitch, I'd be giving my mother flowers and chocolates as tribute for giving birth to me."

"And the emotionally damaged boy has mommy-issues. Why isn't there a biography dedicated to the struggle that it is to be Adrian Ivashkov?" Angeline asked dramatically, placing a hand to her head in a fake attempt to swoon over how supposedly hard Adrian's home life was. "No one gives a damn, Ivashkov."

"Shut it, Angeline."

"Or all of you could shut up so we get out of here by four." Sydney supplied, speaking up from her silence as she heard the doorknob turn. The four students around her straightened, acting suddenly studious as Mr. Alto stepped into the room, watching the quieted students with monotone eyes.

;

Mr. Alto was pacing the room, lifting his head every so often to see if one of the students had the bravery to speak up and risk another detention. None of the students seemed interested, and the chemistry teacher seemed happy.

"Now, anyone who has been here before knows that I hate watching over you kids even more than you hate being here, but this gives me the extra pay I need."

"What's your extra pay for again, Stan? Alcohol?"

"Don't call me Stan. Now, for the familiar faces here, I'll go over the rules another time." Mr. Alto sat on Jill and Eddie's desk in a 'cool teacher' pose, ticking off his fingers for each rule he listed, "There will be no talking. You may not have out any phones or electronic devices. You may study, but you may not read fictional novels. You will each receive one pass to use the restroom. There is no eating until lunchtime, and only water is permitted. There will be no music, and no getting up to wander. I can see you from my office, and I know when you're messing around. I'm not going to stand for any of your messing about—if you choose to be 'funny', you can see me next Saturday."

"Life's too short to be wasted sitting about, stressing over finding the quietest way to breathe." Adrian leant back in his chair, providing a small grin to Mr. Stan. By a single look at his posture and half-closed bright eyes, it was obvious that the troublemaker didn't give a damn about the detention, the punishments to come, or just about anything else in the fucked up world they lived in.

;

Question of the day:

**How have you met your closer friends from FFN? **I've met my extended family through a few forums, and am glad to know them c:

**T**h**o**u**g**h**t**s, **q**u**e**s**t**i**o**n**s**, **o**r** c**o**m**m**e**n**t**s**?** Leave a **r**e**v**i**e**w.


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